


Where My Heart Is

by Ponddipper



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Alternative ending to Series 3 Episode 1, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponddipper/pseuds/Ponddipper
Summary: Camille makes an unexpected discovery and Richard finally has to face his feelings for his half-French colleague.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Lizzie - my Friend and Inspiration  
> Thanks also to Sweetpeaspatch who gave her opinion on my first outline plan and I think the suggestions made have helped to create this tale.

** Where My Heart Is **

_For Lizzie, my friend and the inspiration for this tale._

 

 

Camille leant her head against the kitchen cabinet, steam from the brewing tea warming her face as it drifted up slowly from below.

            She was an idiot.  A stubborn, stupid idiot and now Richard was hurt because of her.

            Why didn’t she listen?  Why didn’t she trust him when he warned her to back off? 

Because Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey thought she knew better, had ploughed on regardless, pushing and pushing the man they’d been interviewing at the beach bar until he suddenly snapped, upending the table between them with a roar, throwing himself at her, ready to attack.

In an instant Richard was between them, using his body to shield her from the assault.  The suspect got in several blows before the two detectives could restrain their suspect and put him under arrest.

Luckily Richard’s injuries were only minor, just cuts and bruises, a little bit of a nose bleed.  But now that the adrenaline was wearing off Camille couldn’t help thinking about what _could_ have happened.  

Tears began to slip down her nose, splashing onto the back of her clenched fist as the possible consequences of her rash actions began to sink in, a shudder rippling over her body as she realised just how serious it could have been.  What if there had been a knife?  A gun?  Richard could have been stabbed, or shot, or worse.  He could have _died_ because of her.  He’d only just come back to work after his so called friend nearly killed him at their University Reunion.   How could she be so stupid as to risk him again?

Another full body tremor shook Camille as she thought back to that fateful day.  She would never be able to forget it, the memory of finding Richard sprawled unconscious in the sun lounger still so clear in her mind.  He’d looked so relaxed, as if he were merely taking a nap except for the ice pick poking from his chest, the sun glinting off the shiny steel blade.  He’d been left alone, abandoned and ignored by his so called friends as they played silly games inside, while poor Richard laid baking and bleeding under the hot Caribbean sun.

She still got nightmares some nights, waking to sweat soaked sheets, her heart thundering in her ears and her whole body shivering, cold.  It was always the same dream; that she was too late to save him,  that she missed the clues and didn’t realise he needed her until it was too late and Richard had died less than a mile from the Police Station alone and thinking he had no-one who cared.

            She blinked back tears, trying to get her breathing under control as Camille realised she’d also blown her chance of getting Richard to put her forward for her Inspectors exams.  It wasn’t that she was after his job but she wanted him to see how much she had learnt by working with him, how she could be trusted to lead investigations and cover for him.  She wanted to be his equal and not _just_ the deputy, but now all he would do is shake his head and awkwardly suggest she wait a few months.  Or years.

****

 

With great effort Camille forced herself to breathe deeply, to wipe away the tears and regain her self-control.  She would apologise, find a way to make up for her mistake.  She had promised his mother she would look after him and it was a promise she intended to keep.

            ‘Um Camille?  Are you okay?’

She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Richard approach.  The sudden sound of his voice made her jump, the two mugs of tea in her hands sloshing out their contents as she spun quickly to face him.  

            ‘Argh!’  Richard yelled, doubling over to clutch at his side as the hot tea soaked through the fabric onto his skin.

Camille virtually threw the mugs back onto the counter before turning back to grab at his shirt.  If she could get the shirt in soak quickly, hopefully it wouldn’t stain.

            ‘Camille No!’  He shouted, the panic in his voice making him squeak, but Camille had already gotten a firm grip on the fabric, yanking it over his head before he could back out of her reach.

            Everything went in and out of focus for a moment as Camille’s grasp of the shirt went lax, the fabric falling to the ground unnoticed.  She felt her jaw drop and moisture burst in her mouth as her eyes raked over the smooth, muscular chest before her.

            She had often wondered what he kept hidden under those formal white shirts, her imagination drifting into territory she knew wasn’t safe for her sanity but now she was faced with real hard evidence and it was.... _nice_.  He wasn’t ripped, nor was he chubby.  There were defined muscles, smooth skin and...

            A strange strangled sound erupted from her nose as Camille’s eyes zoomed in on the red mark just below the collarbone on the left side of his chest.  It was heart shaped, deep red and, her detective brain supplied, right over where the ice pick scar should be.

            ‘Oh my god!’  She said, voice barely above a whisper, one hand rising to reach out and touch.  ‘Richard, is that a ... _tattoo?’_

            Her eyes snapped up to meet his, Richard’s wide eyed stare something like a scared rabbit.  His face was the colour of sunburn and he swayed, clearly torn between running for his life and self-combusting on the spot.  She took a step forward, hands outstretched in a submissive gesture, but he swallowed hard then ran from the room. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2 **

 

Richard sat on his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, head squashed into the tight space between body and leg.  He wanted to die.   How could he have been so stupid?  How could he have let her find out?

            His chest hurt, his heart squeezing tight as he recalled the look of shock on her face.  He’d blown it now, blown any chance he had of staying here.  Once upon a time that wouldn’t have been a hardship but now, the thought of leaving made him want to cry and beg for forgiveness.

            But there was no forgiving him for what he’d done.  He thought he could keep it quiet, keep his feelings to himself but no, someone had it in for him from the moment he was born and decided that, just when he’d found somewhere he could be happy, to pull that rug from under his feet and remind him that he was Richard Poole, a man for whom a lucky break was as foreign as the moon.

            A tap on the door had him popping his head up, Camille entering the room quietly and shutting the door again.  He watched her approach, her arms folded over her middle, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

            ‘Are you okay?’  She said, voice quiet, though there was little other sound around to compete.

After Helen nearly killed him with an ice pick, the MET sent out another DI to cover his post during his recovery.  Due to an administrative mix-up DI Goodman had been allocated the beach house leaving Richard nowhere to go to convalesce.  He’d thought about going back to the UK but the fear of being reassigned upon his return to fitness had him reconsidering that decision.  Camille had already solved the problem though, telling him that she knew of a small villa that needed a long term tenant while the owners went abroad for a year and the team had moved Richards things across two days before he was discharged from St Cedds Hospital.

            Even Harry made the move, stowing away in a box of books.  They’d tried to repatriate him to the beach several times but the bloody reptile kept finding his way back until Richard had given up.  It was nice to have someone to come home to in the evening and chat about the day.  And Harry did a good job of keeping the bugs out of the house.

Camille shifted from one foot to the other, her folded arms uncurling to hang at her sides.

            ‘Richard, I just want to..’

He held up his hand to stop her.

            ‘Camille, please.  I’m sorry.  I’ll talk to the Commissioner in the morning, get a transfer.  This is your home and I don’t want to make you feel awkward or uncomfortable.  I can get another job in the UK.’

Camille looked on the verge of tears.  He really wasn’t good with crying females and seeing Camille so upset made him feel like the worst kind of dirt imaginable.  It wasn’t like he had ever stood a chance with her.  He was too old, too grumpy, too set in his ways to ever stand a hope of catching someone like Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey.  She was smart, funny, vibrant, alive.  It would be like trying to keep a beautiful butterfly in a cage.

            ‘Richard please!’  Camille sat on the edge of the bed, hands wringing in her lap.  ‘Richard, just talk to me.  I need to understand.  Why did you get  _that_  tattoo?’

He let out a long sigh, one hand instinctively scrubbing through his thinning hair as he tried to find the words to explain.

            ‘One night, when I was in London, there was a bad storm.  I couldn’t sleep and I just lay there, in the dark thinking.’

He rested his head in his hand, face turned down to the bed, not daring to meet her eyes.  He didn’t want to see the fake smile, the reassurances it was okay that didn’t match the distance she would put between them when she knew the truth.

            ‘ I thought about how you’d laugh at me and say it wasn’t a proper storm, not like we get here, and that made me think of the Hurricane and the night we spent in the Weather Station.’ 

He huffed out a small laugh, his lips turning up in a faint smile as he remembered that night once more. 

            ‘You know, that was the first night I’d spent alone with a woman since University.  Sad isn’t it?  I’m over forty and I’m still on my own.’

He felt his cheeks burn with the admission, but he’d never found anyone special enough to bother with.  It had been hard to get over Sasha, to overcome the betrayal of finding out his best friend, who he’d confided in about his affections, had swept in and stolen the girl from under Richards very nose. But now he had found the one person he could imagine spending the rest of his life with and he’d blown any chance he had by getting her name tattooed across his chest before he’d even asked her out.  Talk about looking desperate.

            ‘Richard, ‘Camille reached out, taking his hand in hers.  ‘Do you remember what I said that night?’

He nodded.

            ‘I know.  But...’  He sighed, trying hard to find the words to explain how deep it went for him.  He owed her that much.  ‘Maybe it was the trial, sitting in the Old Bailey listening to my life story being recounted by someone else, but I realised how dull and boring it was until I came to Saint Marie.  I never tried to change, just let myself repeat the same mistakes over and over.

He finally turned his head, taking a deep breath and looked her right in the eye.

            ‘But this whole thing has made me think, really think about my life and what I want from it.  I know you don’t feel the same and I would never expect you to settle for someone old and grumpy like me, but I had to do something to acknowledge the way I feel, to remind myself that I am not alone, that I have friends.’

             ‘And how do you feel Richard?’  She asked, linking their fingers together, her palm warm and soft against his skin.

Richard looked of the window, across the patio and out to sea, his spare hand clenched tight into a fist.

             ‘I love you.’  He said, swallowing hard, pushing back the tears that prickled at his eyelashes.  ‘But it’s okay.  I know you don’t feel like that about me.  I’ll talk to the Commissioner.  I‘ll get a transfer back to the UK.  I’ll go away and you can forget all about me.’

            ‘I can’t.’

With another deep breath Richard turned back to her, his face hot with the effort of holding back the tears.

            ‘You will.’  He said insistently. ‘Give it time, a few months and you’ll never even remember me.’

            ‘I will.’ Camille said taking his hand.  ‘I will never forget you because I will have lost the most important person in my life, the most kind, brilliant and wonderful man.  And I will spend the rest of my life wishing I hadn’t let him go.’

Richard looked at her wet eyes, the way her head hung low.  She didn’t meant it, she couldn’t.  She was just being nice, trying to spare his feelings.  She was kind like that, but he knew that in the end they would both regret it.  He had to leave, to go away and let her move on.

            ‘Camille, please..’

            ‘I love you Richard.’  She looked at him, fire burning in her eyes, her jaw set tight.

He couldn’t breathe. 

            ‘I love you and I have done for so long.  But I was scared because I was sure you would never want me.  You never looked at me like you did other women.  You never showed any signs of wanting to be anything more than mere friends.  And.. And I knew that if I tried to tell you how I felt then you would leave because you didn’t want to be with me.  But then you were stabbed and I was terrified you would never come back.  I lost my best friend and barely three months later had I almost lost you too.’

Tears began to trickle down her cheeks and Richard wanted to reach out and wipe them away.  But he kept his hands clenched into fists, still not believing this was real.

            ‘But you survived.  I was so happy, but I couldn’t tell you then because you needed to get well so I kept quiet because I didn’t want to lose you.  Didn’t want to make you run away.’

Camille let her head drop into her hands as she sobbed, letting herself go when Richard wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close for a hug.

            ‘I love you Richard.’  She said, muffled against his chest.

            ‘I’ve waited so long to hear those words.’  He said, rubbing a hand across her back as she melted into his embrace.

Camille looked up at him, a weak smile shining through her tears.

            ‘If you’ll let me I will tell you every day for the rest of my life.’

Richard looked down at her, seeing only openness and truth in her eyes.  Perhaps this was it.  The chance he had hoped for.  Did he trust her?  Yes.  Did he want the chance to try?  Oh god yes!

            He reached out with one hand, cupping her chin, smoothing away the tear tacks with his thumb.

            ‘Oh, I think that could be arranged.’  He said before pulling her in for a sweet gentle kiss that had him seeing stars.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

One month later...

Richard threw himself back in his chair, a low growl escaping his lips as he ran his hands through his hair.  He was glad he was alone in the office at the moment, no-one to see his frustration at failing in his simple task.  Why was this so hard? 

If he could find the money then they could afford another DI.  If they could afford another DI then he could put Camille up for Inspector.  He’d spoken to the Commissioner weeks ago and Patterson agreed to the plan,  _if_  Richard could find the money.

He looked up, towards the empty desk opposite, a small smile curving his lips as he thought about the amazing, beautiful woman who normally sat there.  She’ll make a great DI.  She’s observant, determined and is far better at communicating with people than he is.

It’s one of the things he still can’t quite understand, how neatly they fit in all aspects of their life.  She seems to find and fill in the gaps in his own life without ever needing to ask or be told.  It’s as if she is the missing half of him, and isn’t that a mawkish and overly sentimental thought?

Plus if they’re the same rank, then there can be less criticism of their relationship.  He knows no-one here would begrudge the island beauty her happiness (he’s not so sure about his own) but the Police Officer in him  wasn’t going to let their love jeopardise any cases.  It wouldn’t be fair to the victims or their families if the defence put doubts about the professionalism of the team into the jury’s mind.

But to get his happy ever after he needs to find five thousand pounds in an already tight budget.  Looking down at his desk again he picked up the team photo that stands proudly in a silver frame on his desk. 

It had been taken on his first day back after being stabbed at the Reunion.  As was custom for any kind of celebration, commiseration, or just plain socialisation they had retired to Catherine’s bar after work for a drink.  Richard huffed a laugh as he remembered the shock on the Frenchwoman’s face when he declined his usual tea and asked for a beer instead.  Humphrey had suggested the photo, pulling out his phone to take the picture as the four officers crowded close, arms draped over shoulders, drinks raised in a celebratory toast.

Of course Humphrey had then backed up a bit too far, sending some poor woman and her brightly coloured cocktail flying into the air.  Catherine had taken a quick snap before coming to the aid of the unfortunate woman and the hapless DI.

The memory made Richard feel warm inside.  It had been the moment he finally realised these people were not just his colleagues, they were his friends.  They’d given blood sweat and tears to solve the puzzle of his attack.  Each of them had helped him through his recovery, kept him going through the dark times, their unique talents offering him help in all manner of ways.

There had to be a way to repay their friendship.  There just had to be.

Maybe he could buy his own car. That would save a fortune in taxi fares  _and_  free up the Land Rover for prisoner transport.  He still refused to use the motorbike and sidecar, no matter how much the others assured him it was safe.  After a chat with Humphrey Richard was glad to hear that  _he_  hadn’t used it much either.

Another line on the spreadsheet caught his eye.  The MET were getting ten grand a year to cover the “admin” costs of him being an overseas officer?  It was outrageous, especially as London didn’t really  _do_  anything.  If he spoke to the Commissioner, left the Met and got himself transferred permanently to the RSMPF then that would save another ten grand.

And it isn’t as if he was planning on leaving anytime soon.  Not unless he got thrown out on his ear for ogling his Detective Sergeant instead of completing his Performance and Development appraisal forms.  So maybe he could buy a house here, instead of renting.  Despite being a paradise island houses were nowhere near the price of London, and he could cut the need for the force to provide him with accommodations if he was a permanent officer too...

The sound of asymmetrical footsteps jerked Richard from his considerations.  The sound was slowly getting louder so, as it was quiet both           physically and criminally at the moment, Richard stood up and went to investigate.  As he rounded the end of his desk, Camille hobbled in through the open door.

            ‘My god Camille!  What happened?’

Richard almost leapt across the room, rushing to her side and pulling her arm around his shoulders, bearing her weight and helping her to her chair.

            ‘Don’t panic Richard.’  Camille sighed, sinking gracefully into her seat.  ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

He went to the break area and grabbed a hard backed chair, carrying it over to the injured woman, before scooting to Dwayne’s section of the open plan office and snatching up the cushion that the older man used as a pillow when he needed a nap.  Richard was fully prepared to argue if Dwayne even thought to complain.

            ‘Richard please.  It’s fine!’  Camille protested as he gently lifted her bandaged ankle.

He ignored her, carefully cradling her leg until it was nestled on the now cushioned chair.  Still kneeling by her side he spoke.

            ‘Camille.  What happened?’

Richard began to imagine all sorts of accidents and incidents, from tripping over her often scattered shoes at home, to a twisted ankle from the cobbled marketplace to snake or spider or jellyfish bite.

            But why hadn’t she called him in her hour of need?  Was she already getting bored with him, or finding him too clingy, too claustrophobic?  He knew he wasn’t good at this relationship business but he thought they were okay, that she wanted his company in the evenings.  Although, yesterday she had said she had an appointment, something she needed to do.  Perhaps it was her way of asking for some space?

            ‘STOP!’ Camille said, loud enough to pierce through his thoughts and snap him back to the present.  ‘Stop with your thinking.  I told you, it’s not what it seems.  I got a tattoo.’

A garbled wheezy squeak tumbled from his throat and Camille laughed, taking his hand in both hers.

            ‘Yes, I got a tattoo.  I wanted to celebrate our one month anniversary together and it seemed like a good idea.’

She shifted in her seat, hissing as the bandage brushed against the cushion.  ‘Now I’m not so sure.  Ow!’

            ‘Let me get you something to help.’  He said, rising up from his crouch, ignoring the popping of his knees.

            ‘Thanks.’

Richard smiled fondly at her as he handed her one of Dwayne’s ice packs, his heart lifting as he realised this woman was nothing like the others.  She really did care about him and she made him happy just by being near.

            ‘May I?’ He gestured to her ankle and she nodded, lifting her leg slightly to aid his removal of the dressing.

Camille hissed again as the gentle waft of air from the ceiling fan brushed across her recently inked skin.  Richard gently dabbed the ice pack, wrapped in his hanky, over the squiggle of black lines, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what they meant.

            ‘It’s a cat.’  She said, pulling her heel up so the cat was vertical instead of horizontal.  ‘It reminded me of you.’

Richard looked up confused.

            ‘Me?  But I don’t...’

Camille put her finger on his lips and he hushed immediately.

            ‘My dear sweet Richard.  You are very much feline in nature.  You are aloof and independent on the outside, just like all cats be it domestic tabby or sleek jungle puma.  But,’ her eyes positively twinkled as she bit her lower lip between two teeth and blushed.  Her dark skin made it difficult to tell, but after a month of  _very_  close study Richard was beginning to notice the signs.

            ‘But?’ He said, looking at her, eyebrows raised to indicate she should go on.

            ‘But in private you are very loving and playful.  And,’ she leant forward in her seat until she was only a few inches from the end of his nose.  ‘If I tickle you in the right spot, I can make you purr-rr’

It wasn’t fair how her French accent allowed her to roll her R’s until he was a virtual puddle of liquid on the floor.  His skin seemed to fizzle all over as her perfume invaded his nostrils and he leant forward to close the gap between them.  She would be the death of him, the absolute ...

Before he could fully close the gap and kiss that smug grin right off her face the phone rang, reminding Richard that they were at work and anyone could walk in at any time.

Tonight, he decided as he stood up, ignoring his popping kneecaps and stiff hips, reaching for the ringing handset. Tonight he would show her just how playful he could be.

THE END.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, we finally have a finished story! I apologise for:  
> a) the length of time this had taken for me to write. It has proven to be an almost impossible task for me.  
> b) the quality of this tale. It has had so many rewrites, edits and alterations that I don't know which is which anymore. There are bits IO like but other bits I hate. I've almost binned it so many times but I persevered because I wanted to get something written. But I'm not happy with the end product and can only apologise for my lack of talent with this one.
> 
> One day I may come back and redo it because I like the idea and I am sure it has merit somewhere. If you want to use the idea then please do.
> 
> I would appreciate some honest feedback about this, please don't feel scared to tell me what you hate, where I could do better. I'm not giving up on wirting but this one was the monster that couldn't be tamed for me. Sorry Lizzie, I wanted to do so much better.
> 
>  
> 
> Reagrds  
> PD.
> 
> P.S Sweetpea - This did not come out anything like the outline I sent you. I hope you enjoy nonetheless.


End file.
